This morning on their hop, Mr. Bunny announced that he does not wish to be tethered to western ideas of time and space.
Oh dear.

And now for the story denouement!  Mrs. Bunny is very fond of denouements.  She can denoue with the best of them!  Also, she is very fond of exclamation points.  Many contemn the exclamation point.  Especially when used over-enthusiastically!  Although, one might ask, when else WOULD one use an exclamation point except when seized with enthusiasm?  And who would want a life lived without enthusiasm!  It would, indeed, be a life unlived!  Mrs. Bunny finds her own use of exclamation points to be judicious and just right.  She compares it to two bourbon biscuits with tea.  Treatlike without flying into the hysteria of eclairs.

And now for the marmots.

Mrs. Bunny drove along the road, what road that the marmots weren't hogging.  She drove for miles looking for the end of the marmot procession without finding one.  Fortunately she spied The Marmot, who was the only marmot she had had any particular dealings with.  She asked him what was up.  He said that he thought it rather obvious.  They were marching.  They were protesting.  In great numbers.  From all parts of the island.  They gathered.
"Dear me,"  said Mrs. Bunny.  "Protesting what?"
"We haven't yet decided.  In truth, we haven't decided if we are protesting or celebrating.  But I can assure you, it will be one of the two."
"And what's in the bags?"  asked Mrs. Bunny for each marmot was clasping a brown paper lunch bag in his sweaty little paw.
"None of your business,"  said The.
So Mrs. Bunny sighed and grabbed it away.  Upon opening it she smelled the distinctive smell of garlic bread.  She picked a piece up.  It was hard.  In fact, the whole bag contained little nubbins of day-old garlic bread.
"Okay,"  she said, sighing again, for marmots often gave her a headache.  "I give up."
"For throwing,"  said The.  "At the thing we decide to protest."
"Uh huh,"  said Mrs. Bunny, preparing to drive home again.
"Or in the air,"  said The.  "In celebration.  In either event we plan to go wild.  Absolutely wild!"
"Mrs. Bunny would prefer it if you left the exclamation points to those who know how to use them properly,"  was all she could think of to say.
Then she drove home.
"Don't tell me,"  said Mr. Bunny from the porch, opening his newspaper and hoping to get through it in peace.
So she didn't.
She told you.

Mrs. Bunny awoke this morning to the steady tromping of feet.  Always hoping that it is the UPS bunny coming to give her a present or perhaps a large prize of some sort, she ran outside in her nightgown and fur curlers only to see a long procession of marmots heading down the road.
Mr. Bunny was already up and having his coffee on the porch.
"Where do you suppose they are going?"  she asked.  "Why there must be a hundred!"
"With marmots one never knows,"  said Mr. Bunny with a sorry lack of curiosity for one who used to be a detective.
"Well, hop on over and ask them,"  said Mrs. Bunny.
"No, thank you,"  said Mr. Bunny.  "I try to keep my contact with marmots to a minimum."
"Then I am taking the smart car and finding out for myself," said Mrs. Bunny.
She leapt into it, curlers and all and gunned it.
"Some bunnies are are all squawk and no hop,"  she muttered to herself, naming no names.  "But I'll get to the bottom of this or my name is not Tootsiewig Bunny."
In fact, her name is NOT Tootsiewig Bunny but she has always wished it were.

STAY TUNED

Mrs. Bunny and Mr. Bunny were having a morning hop in the woods when Mrs. Bunny began screaming incoherently and hopping up and down in place, waving her arms about and making snorting noises.  This was unusual behavior even for Mrs. Bunny.  When she had calmed down somewhat Mr. Bunny asked her what the matter was and Mrs. Bunny announced that a bug had flown up her nose.   She was unable to get it out.
"That is unfortunate,"  said Mr. Bunny.  "For everyone knows that a bug that successfully makes it past the snorting attempts to expel it, and carries on upwards, eventually makes it to its desired destination, the frontal lobes.  And then it eats your brain."
Mrs. Bunny looked at him with horror.  She knew he was only having his little joke but such a thought had occurred to her more than once on similar occasions.  The fact that her brain seemed to have survived several such bug journeys was no comfort.  It was her private contention that in each case the bug had entered through the nose but exited through her long and fuzzy ears, bypassing the brain completely.
No more of this was said for Mr. Bunny was intent on telling Mrs. Bunny every tedious detail of his last shopping trip and the bargains thereof and seemed to have forgotten the bug.  Mrs. Bunny was not so fortunate.
That evening, however, at Jeopardy, Mrs. Bunny declared Spain to be the capitol of Chile and Eisenhower to be the fourth president.
"Ah,"  said Mr. Bunny, "the bug has begun to munch.  I guess I should say good by to the Mrs. Bunny I used to know and love."
Ha ha ha.
Mrs. Bunny spent the night with her furry paws clutching her head.  Just in case it helped.
Mr. Bunny spent the night on the couch.
In the morning Mrs. Bunny found a squished bug on her pillow.  She ran to get Mr. Bunny.
"Look!" she cried, pointing to it.
"Ick,"  said Mr. Bunny.  "Change the pillowcase."
"You are missing the point!"  said Mrs. Bunny impatiently.  "The bug made his way back out."
"How did he do that?"  asked Mr. Bunny.
"Perhaps through my ear,"  said Mrs. Bunny.
"Mrs. Bunny,"  said Mr. Bunny,  "I really don't want to hear about bugs for at least a fortnight.  A joke is a joke but now I really AM beginning to worry about your frontal lobes."
"Ha!"  said Mrs. Bunny.  "The evidence is undeniable."
Mr. Bunny just shook his head and proceeded with his day.
That night at Jeopardy Mrs. Bunny skunked Mr. Bunny.
She rests her case.

Mrs. Bunny is sorry she has been away but she had to attend the funeral of a dead bunny pal.  All the rabbits gathered on a hill at dusk and then there was but one song played.  The Parting Glass sung by The Wailin Jennys.

http://www.4shared.com/mp3/Kn_EWwbu/The_Wailin_Jennys_-_The_Partin.html

Good night and joy be with you all.

The Case of the Missing Mrs. Bunny

Mr. Bunny woke up one morning to find Mrs. Bunny was missing.  How did he know she had not simply gone for an early jog?  Because if he doesn't find Mrs. Bunny sitting in her favorite chair, scarfing down cinnamon rolls and waving everyone away with her machete until she's had her nineteenth cup of coffee, he knows evil forces have been at play.  Also, she does not jog.
"Gosh,"  said Mr. B.  "I'd better find and rescue her.  Right after I've had a nap and a snack."
Mr. Bunny liked a post wake-up nap.  Waking up always sapped his energy.
After he had had his nap and snack, he had chores to do.  The north forty needed mowing.  Mr. Bunny had a new tractor and even better a new engineer's cap.  He had never had one but had always wanted one. He felt it gave him a look of quiet authority.  "All aboard,"  he said to no one in particular.  He was very busy for the rest of the day.
Meanwhile, it turned out that Mrs. Bunny had gone off to join Cirque de Bunnet.  She had always wanted to go up a thousand feet and twirl by her ears.  As it turned out, it made her dizzy and nauseous and like many things in life was not as much fun as she thought it would be.
Mr. Bunny planned to definitely look for Mrs. Bunny that evening after he went to see Cirque de Bunnet.  After all, the tickets cost SIXTY BUCKS!  And Mrs. Bunny was apparently dead set on wasting hers.  She is a wasteful rabbit, he clucked to himself.
Mr. Bunny enjoyed the show immensely until he found himself covered in vomit.  A spinning bunny had upchucked down from a great height.  Looking up he saw that it was Mrs. Bunny herself.
"You did that on purpose,"  he said.
"I might have, if I'd thought about it,"  she said as he led her home.  "Why did you not come looking for me?"
"The north forty,"  said Mr. Bunny in that shorthand of long-married couples.
"Ah,"  said Mrs. Bunny.  "How was the engineer's cap?"
"I think I can say I cut a dashing engineerlike figure,"  said Mr. Bunny with dignity.  "Everyone boarded and deboarded exactly as I commanded."
"Who is everybody?"  asked Mrs. Bunny.
"Never mind,"  said Mr. Bunny hastily.  "The trains ran on time and that is the important thing."
"You would make a good Mussolini,"  said Mrs. Bunny.
"I don't think you mean that as a compliment,"  said Mr. Bunny.
"You are right,"  said Mrs. Bunny.  "Is there any carrot cake left?"
"Just enough for two,"  said Mr. Bunny and they hopped home to finish it.

Mr. Bunny is perturbed.
Mrs. Bunny has announced that she wishes to attend the superhero convention at Rabbitville's brand new conference centre.
"In general,"  she said, "we hat clubbers plan to boycott the centre.  It is development on a scale that is in direct contradiction to the city plan."
"But you plan to attend this time?"  said Mr. Bunny.  He had shut his eyes when she announced this.  He often felt a sudden sharp pain over his temples when Mrs. Bunny began speaking of "plans."
"YES, BECAUSE IT IS SO VERY COOL AND I GET TO WEAR MY CAPE!  AND MY GOGGLES!"
"I believe superheroes wears capes and masks.  Not goggles,"  said Mr. Bunny.
"What about the ones who swim in chlorinated pools?"  asked Mrs. Bunny.
"You have me there,"  said Mr. Bunny.
Then Mrs. Bunny ran upstairs and donned her superhero apparel.  She planned to wear it around the house for the rest of the day.  And in the garden.
"Maybe I shall attend with you,"  said Mr. Bunny who was bored.
"No,"  said Mrs. Bunny thoughtfully.  "You are only a mediocre hero.  They don't have a convention for you yet."  Then she swept out.
Mrs. Bunny could be so deflating.

The Salt Talk

Mr. and Mrs. Bunny pride themselves on having children with many sterling qualities but sane is not one of them.
Case in point:  yesterday little Willow Bunny called to say that she had had a trying day.  She had decided, she reported to Mrs. Bunny, that being tired and feeling odd, she had too much salt in her body.  And the more she thought about it, the more panicked she became.  That was clearly the problem!  Her body was redolent, teeming with salt.  So she crawled into the bedroom (this part she never explained) and drank several glasses of water and then took a bath.
"Were you trying to soak the salt out of your skin?"  asked Mrs. Bunny who doing her best to be attentive and respectful but torn between wanting to laugh and being concerned that another one of the baby bunnies had lost it and would require placement.
"I don't know," said Willow sadly.  "I only thought it would help."
"And did it?"  asked Mrs. Bunny.
"Well,  I'm still here,"  replied Willow.
"That is a blessing,"  said Mrs. Bunny and they then went on to talk of other things.

Ah, spring has come to Vancouver Island.  Mrs. Bunny was hopping along the beautiful rocky coast, which she likes to do for a couple of hours every morning.  She was picking wildflowers when suddenly she heard whoosh.  Whoooooosh.  "Oh my,"  she said.  "That sounds like whales."  And then,  having spent so many hours of her life so far being thus fooled, looked around for the blowhole where the ocean might be shooting up making whale whooshing imitative noises. She spied instead a whale!  An orca!
"Oh my God!  Oh my God!  Oh my God!"  she cried for she tends to lose her mind at such moments.  "There it is!"
And she pointed.
Of course there was no one else there to be so instructed, but somehow Mrs. Bunny feels that at such moments everyone is there.  In her heart, you were too.